Megan Falley's Blog, page 84

UPCOMING SHOWS

meganfalleytour:

APRIL

4th - AS220. 115 Empire St. Providence, RI. 8PM.

21st - Take Back the Night. Parker Quad. SUNY New Paltz. New Paltz, NY. 12PM.

 

MAY

21st - Sip This. 64 Rockaway Ave. Valley Stream, NY. 7PM.

 

Help make this list longer. Bring me to your campus/venue/living room! 
Email me directly: MeganFalley@gmail.com

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.

Hi Megan, I've been considering submitting to Write Bloody (for years now actually), but never went through with it. Any advice for a writer with a lot of self-doubt regarding whether she can produce a manuscript of 40 "quality" pieces? Don't submit and ju

Just do it. The deadline is tomorrow. Submit things with variety (in terms of style on the page, subject matter, tone) so they know what you can do. All you need for this first round is your three best poems. It doesn’t matter if you don’t make finals. The only losing that happens is letting another year pass by without trying.

I submitted to Write Bloody twice. My first year I only had a handful of great poems. I was a senior in college trying to graduate, to wrestle the tiger of an abusive relationship, to figure out my role in the ever-daunting “real world.” I was selected for the second round and had to submit a full manuscript of 40 poems. I did NOT have 40 good poems. I probably didn’t even have 40 poems at all. But I worked my butt towards creating something I could call a manuscript. I wrote like a motherfucker. I edited old work. Asked friends for help. Put my entire being into it. And I was rejected. And it burned.

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz assured me that Write Bloody was not the end-all be-all of publishing, and encouraged me to submit the poems of that manuscript to different literary journals. Some were rejected, the best ones were accepted, and I got some publishing credits under my belt.

Then, a year of living later, I submitted again. I made finals again. I’d spent the year writing poems and living and reading and though it was still a hustle to get 40 quality poems together (I was writing 9-5 in coffee shops and libraries and then returning to write more at night), I was far more confident in the new manuscript than the first. That manuscript became After the Witch Hunt, a book I am tremendously happy to be my first.

And you know what? I wouldn’t have been able to write it if I hadn’t experienced that first “failure.” “Failure” is a push in the right direction. A kick in the seat of your pants. A double doggie dare.

Submit. I double doggie dare you.